Good Talk, Potter

Rather Be A Potter

The roar of the Floo flaring to life wakes me up from the doze I'd unexpectedly fallen into on the sofa with the Prophet over my face. I snort loudly as I come to, scrambling up, sending the pages scattering apart and then blink around in time to see Draco gracefully get to his feet and stomp, still graceful, off into the kitchen.

"Draco?"

"Be right out."

And then he's stomping his way back into the living room clutching a bottle of Tovaritch, his expression thunderous.

Uh oh.

"How'd lunch go?" I ask carefully, wiping drool off my chin and tilting my face up as he quickly crushes his lips into mine, before throwing himself across from me and leaning back against the armrest, toeing his shoes off and crossing his legs, long, socked feet wiggling.

"Astoria Nott had a baby boy," he replies, unscrewing the cap and drinking straight from the bottle. I glance at the clock on the mantel – it's just past three pm. "I miss Voldemort," he adds vaguely.

"...I wish I could say the same," I say after a baffled pause, watching him grimace and shudder before pulling another long gulp of neat vodka. "You know how much I love it when you and I agree upon something." He doesn't say anything this time, simply gulping a few more mouthfuls, each time swallowing forcefully. "Draco."

"I hate him, Harry," he speaks to my feet. "I genuinely fucking hate my father. I wish the Dark Lord were alive so he could kill him or something."

I sigh under my breath, frowning as he takes another long swallow before screwing the cap back on. "Feel like telling me about it?"

"Not one bit," he answers promptly, placing the bottle on the coffee table with a thud, getting to his feet and pulling his pale blue jumper up over his head, then unbuttoning the crisp white shirt underneath. His socks, trousers and pants follow and then he's straddling me with his skinny knees on either side of my thighs. "Fuck me?"

"Drac--"

He kisses me again, open mouthed and demanding this time, soft hands clutching my face, velvety tongue coaxing mine into action, the bitter vodka on it making my mouth tingle. I wrap my arms around his thin, lightly quivering naked body and hold him pressed firmly into me, longingly wishing that for once, he'd just fucking talk about it.

"Get... remove..." Draco's hands fumble with my jeans, tugging the button free and yanking the zipper down, his breathing slightly laboured as he backs away from me, dragging my jeans down my hips, immediately hunching over and mouthing at the head of my lazily stirring cock.

"Fuck," I let my head fall back. How the fuck am I supposed to get him to talk when I don't ever want him to lift his truly superlative mouth off my cock?

He hums, mouth firmly sealed around the base of my rapidly filling cock and then sucks his way up, pausing to lick kittenishly into the slit a couple of times. I buck slightly, palming his head and swearing softly as he takes me down to the root again, his lips distended around my rather substantial girth, stretched wide, red and glossy.

"Draco," I've to be so careful not to simply fuck madly into his throat. "Come on, c'mere," I lean forward, stroking my palm down his spine, counting each knob under my palm. He shivers and pulls off my cock, a thick thread of spit stretching out between his mouth and the head.

I curse heatedly at the delectable fucking sight and kiss him hurriedly before he draws away, looking slightly frantic as he straddles me again, his pink cock bobbing damply between us as he reaches back to hold my cock in place, preparing to sink onto it.